


Areas of Expertise

by SrebrnaFH



Series: Srebrna's Sherlock Oneshots [9]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Bicycle, Bicycles, Cycling, John actually is a doctor, John is Smarter than he looks, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-16
Updated: 2018-10-16
Packaged: 2019-08-03 01:16:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,548
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16316330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SrebrnaFH/pseuds/SrebrnaFH
Summary: Sherlock managed to annoy Lestrade and was roped into assisting a traffic accident investigation. John offers his input. Some people are surprised.





	Areas of Expertise

**Author's Note:**

> I've been cycling to work a lot recently and so, this ;)

The case was not even a proper _one_. It was a traffic accident with unreliable witnesses galore. The car was white, the car was yellow. Or black. The cyclist was a big, beefy man. Or a hipster in a wollen hat. Or a woman with a child. The cars were going south. Or north. Or fucking west.

Considering that the car was right there (blue), the cyclist was dead and on the pavement, now being seen by the coroner (and was a thirty-something woman in a windbreaker that had seen better times) and the street and braking traces went east, he was ready to send them all to hell. Even Donovan looked at him with sympathy when an old lady accosted him and asked in accusatory tone whether they were looking for the poor doggie that she had seen falling out of the bike basket (the bike had no basket).

He should not have pissed off Lestrade that much, he noted with a bit of exasperation. And he should not have promised to take the next case, whatever it was, even a lost kitten. Well. He would know better now.

Donovan was dealing with the driver and passengers of the car, who seemed a bit jittery - which could have been a simple outcome of having just killed someone in a collision, so he filed it and dismissed immediately.

“She was riding across, you know” the driver shrugged. “Didn’t see her until the last second. Tried to brake, but…”

Donovan was nodding, her recorder out and catching everything.

“So you started braking…”

“Ah” the slight, bright tenor interrupted the exchange, sending a frisson of electricty down Sherlock’s spine. “I think you will find she wasn’t riding.”

Donovan twirled in place and glared at John Watson.

“And why would that be?” she queried angrily.

“She was riding!” the driver pressed. “Showed up out of nowhere…!”

“This is a walking crossing” John pointed out mildly, unstrapping his own bike helmet and combing back sweat-darkened hair. “She wouldn’t want to run afoul of the regulations on that. Penalty is five hundred pounds, I think. Never do it myself, either. Not worth it.”

“Really, that is your reason? She was walking because this is walk-only crossinh? What will you invent tomorrow, drivers who don’t blow the red light and teens who never shoplift?”

John smiled, just a bit. Affably. As if he was humouring her. And then glanced up, finally making eye contact. Raised an eyebrow in a silent query.

He nodded, slightly. More of a slow blink, probably.

 _Go ahead_.

“For one, she was a careful, cautious cyclist” the doctor joined the medical examiner and watched as the man peeled off the shin guard to check the bruising. “She is covered in protection gear, head to toe. Helmet, thick anti shock gloves, guards on spots most prone to being hit in case of a tumble. Padding on her bum, too.”

“How do you know THAT?” Lestrade was watching John with unguarded curiosity.

“Despite all signs to the contrary, I am a doctor, Greg. Most of the population doesn’t come by a butt of this shape naturally.”

And then John had a temerity to smirk and shoot him a glance.

“But I understand that you would not be convinced simply by the inference that she should not have done this and so would not do it… but, again, as a doctor, I have to point out that her ankles are broken in the wrong way” John crouched by the body.

“And that means exactly what? How ankles be broken in a _right_ way?”

Oh. Interesting. Donovan was now angry at John. Which was surprising, because until now she mostly displayed some kind of resigned sympathy or even commiseration. But why? He had been respectful, kind, professional - all the things that Sherlock himself never even tried to be - and, actually, in his area of official competence. Not often did John have a chance to just be a doctor.

He saw John giving him an exasperated eyeroll…

…and Donovan saw it, too. Ah.

“That means, in this particular case, that her legs were on the same side of the bicycle. If she was riding, her feet would have been on different levels, most probably, or at least on opposite sides of the frame. The bruising pattern would have been different. Here, you can see… can we roll up the trouser legs? Thank you. Her bicycle doesn’t have a top tube, probably she also rode it in a skirt, so this would be easier for her to get on. Or maybe she had some slight mobility problems, can’t say right now, not without a closer look. Anyway, no top tube. Bruising there would be a dead giveaway - either one thigh, on the outside, in the spot where the tube would have hit her, or the other, on the inside. The same, I think, we can do now for ankles… see, there is an impression that matches…” he strode to the bike, pulled it upright and and measured the distance between the bottom tube and the ground. “Yes, that would match. She was standing on the right of the bike - not only walking, but standing, both feet on the ground. Something stopped her. And she was hit from the left, the bike pushed into her by the car, leaving, among the injuries that killed her, a distinct impression of the crank arm axle, right here, on the outside of the left ankle. That broke her left ankle and the chain stay scraped the other, so she was standing with her left leg in front of the right one…” he rolled down the trousers on the victim’s left hip “…maybe a bit bent forward, as I see bruising here, hit by the side of her saddle, so she was standing like this…” he demonstrated, his tight black shorts leaving absolutely nothing whatsoever to imagination. “Her hip was hit by the saddle, her left leg by the pedal arm, the right by the chain guard - less severly, as it was the leg that was farther away, but still.”

“In short, she was standing on the crossing when she was hit?”

John nodded slowly.

“Obviously she should not have been standing…” he frowned and looked at the wheel of the bicycle. “But I think she couldn’t walk. The brake is stuck. It had caught the wheel and she was… This is why she was bending like this - she was trying to push the bike when it got stuck.”

“Couldn’t she just have picked it up and carried it to the pavement?” Lestrade poked at the brake. “Yep, looks like it’s holding tight. This wheel was not going to turn.”

“Again, this bike has no top tube, it’s harder to pick it up and carry far. And it’s pretty heavy, too. Many city bikes are. Anyway, you have the answer - her brake got stuck and she was stuck… And considering the location of the impact site, the driver must have seen her from a distance. Probably he expected her to walk in a steady manner and didn’t slow down as he was supposed to, so he didn’t manage to stop in time.”

“Well, thank you, doctor, for all these deductions” Donovan frowned at the woman’s body. “Holmes? Anything you wish to add? Some brilliant observations at the last second that will make us look in a completely new direction?”

John smiled at him from where he crouched, looking at the brake and fiddling with the wires.

“Me?” he found himself a bit hoarse. “No, no. But you could ask doctor Watson whether he thinks the brakes have just failed or been manipulated by someone. Or, better still, take the bike to an appropriate technician and get it checked. And if you find out that there has been foul play, which I’m not saying is what you will discover, check the poor woman’s coworkers. Good day, sergeant.”

“But he didn’t say anything about the brakes!” came her plaintive cry.

“He didn’t have to, you should have just observed what he was doing. John, coming?”

“That it? No comments? No denouncing John’s guesses as baseless?”

He sighed and turned to Lestrade, shaking his head.

“I am a specialist, Gavin. I’ve learnt early that in matters medical, military and bicycle related I do best to defer to my husband’s expertise.”

John straightened, stripped the nitrile gloves off and stretched. Streeeeetched. The way the muscles played under the tight blue sport shirt was most satisfying. The way several of the NSY staff went a bit cross-eyed at the view was possibly even more so. And then John leaned over to pick up his bike gloves that he had dropped by the body and someone actually managed to spit out their coffee.

“I’ll see you at home, Sherlock” John said with a wicked little smile. “A wager who will get there first?”

“The loser washes the dishes” he answered, already pulling on his own gloves and looking around for a cab as John raced to where he had chained his bicycle.

“You two…” he heard Lestrade murmur with exasperation.

“Wait, what?” Donovan’s voice broke a bit. “Husband?”

John winked at him as he jumped onto the saddle and pushed on the pedals, gaining speed in seconds.


End file.
